Five
Max was waiting at the door when Bailey got home from work that evening. His striped yellow tail pointed straight toward the ceiling as he twisted and turned between her legs. His not-so-subtle message was designed to remind her it was mealtime.
“Just a minute, Maxie,” she muttered. She leafed through the mail as she walked into the kitchen, pausing when she found a yellow slip.
“Meow.”
“Max, look,” she said, waving the note at him. “Mrs. Morgan’s holding a package for us.” The apartment manager was always kind enough to accept deliveries, saving Bailey more than one trip to the post office.
Leaving a disgruntled Max behind, Bailey hurried down the stairs to Mrs. Morgan’s first-floor apartment, where she was greeted with a warm smile. Mrs. Morgan was an older woman, a matronly widow who seemed especially protective of her younger tenants.
“Here you go, dear,” she said, handing Bailey a large manila envelope.
Bailey knew the instant she saw the package that this wasn’t an unexpected surprise from her parents. It was her manuscript—rejected.
“Thank you,” she said, struggling to disguise her disappointment. From the moment Bailey had read Jo Ann’s critique she’d realized Forever Yours would probably be rejected. What she hadn’t foreseen was this stomach-churning sensation, this feeling of total discouragement. Koppen Publishing had kept the manuscript for nearly four months. Jo Ann had insisted no news was no news, and so Bailey had begun to believe that the editor had held on to her book for so long because she’d seriously considered buying it.
Bailey had fully expected that she’d have to revise her manuscript; nonetheless, she’d hoped to be doing it with a contract in her pocket, riding high on success.
Once again Max was waiting by the door, more impatient this time. Without thinking, Bailey walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and dumped food into his bowl. It wasn’t until she straightened that she realized she’d given her greedy cat the dinner she was planning to cook for herself.
No fool, Max dug into the ground turkey, edging his way between her legs in his eagerness. Bailey shrugged. The way she was feeling, she didn’t have much of an appetite, anyway.
It took her another five minutes to find the courage to open the package. She carefully pried apart the seam. Why she was being so careful, she couldn’t even guess. She had no intention of reusing the envelope. Once the padding was separated, she removed the manuscript box. Inside was a short letter that she quickly read, swallowing down the emotion that clogged her throat. The fact that the letter was personal, and not simply a standard rejection letter, did little to relieve the crushing disappointment.
Reaching for the phone, Bailey punched out Jo Ann’s number. Her friend had experienced this more than once and was sure to have some words of wisdom to help Bailey through this moment. Jo Ann would understand how badly her confidence had been shaken.
After four rings, Bailey was connected to her friend’s answering machine. She listened to the message, but didn’t want to leave Jo Ann such a disheartening message, so she mumbled, “It’s Bailey,” and hung up.
Pacing the apartment in an effort to sort out her emotions didn’t seem to help. She eyed her computer, which was set up in a corner of her compact living room, but the desire to sit down and start writing was nil. Vanished. Destroyed.
Jo Ann had warned her. So had others in their writers’ group. Rejections hurt. She just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.
Searching in her purse for a mint, she felt her fingers close around a business card. Parker’s business card. She slowly drew it out. He’d written down his phone number....
Should she call him? No, she decided, thrusting the card into her pocket. Why even entertain the notion? Talking to Parker now would be foolish. And risky. She was a big girl. She could take rejection. Anyone who became a writer had to learn how to handle rejection.
Rejections were rungs on the ladder of success. Someone had said that at a meeting once, and Bailey had written it down and kept it posted on the bottom edge of her computer screen. Now was the time to act on that belief. Since this was only the first rung, she had a long way to climb, but the darn ladder was much steeper than she’d anticipated.
With a fumbling resolve, she returned to the kitchen and reread the letter from Paula Albright, the editor, who wrote that she was returning the manuscript “with regret.”
“Not as much regret as I feel,” Bailey informed Max, who was busy enjoying her dinner.
“She says I show promise.” But Bailey noted that she didn’t say promise of what.
The major difficulty, according to the editor, was Michael. This wasn’t exactly a surprise to Bailey. Ms. Albright had kindly mentioned several scenes that needed to be reworked with this problem in mind. She ended her letter by telling Bailey that if she revised the manuscript, the editorial department would be pleased to reevaluate it.
Funny, Bailey hadn’t even noticed that the first time she’d read the letter. If she reworked Michael, there was still a chance.
With sudden enthusiasm, Bailey grabbed the phone. She’d changed her mind—calling Parker now seemed like a good idea. A great idea. He might well be her one and only chance to straighten out poor misguided Michael.
Parker answered on the second ring, sounding distracted and mildly irritated at being interrupted.
“Parker,” Bailey said, desperately hoping she wasn’t making a first-class fool of herself, “this is Bailey York.”
“Hello.” His tone was a little less disgruntled.
Her mouth had gone completely dry, but she rushed ahead with the reason for her call. “I want you to know I’ve... I’ve been thinking about your dinner invitation. Could you possibly meet me tonight instead of tomorrow?” She wanted to start rehabilitating Michael as soon as possible.
“This is Bailey York?” He sounded as though he didn’t remember who she was.
“The writer from the subway,” she said pointedly, feeling like more of an idiot with every passing second. She should never have phoned him, but the impulse had been so powerful. She longed to put this rejection behind her and write a stronger romance, but she was going to need his help. Perhaps she should call him later. “Listen, if now is inconvenient, I could call another time.” She was about to hang up when Parker spoke.
“Now is fine. I’m sorry if I seem rattled, but I was working and I tend to get absorbed in a project.”
“I do that myself,” she said, reassured by his explanation. Drawing a deep breath, she explained the reason for her unexpected call. “Forever Yours was rejected today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His regret seemed genuine, and the soft fluttering sensation returned to her stomach at the sympathy he extended.
“I was sorry, too, but it didn’t come as a big shock. I guess I let my hopes build when the manuscript wasn’t immediately returned, which is something Jo Ann warned me about.” She shifted the receiver to her other ear, surprised by how much better she felt having someone to talk to.
“What happens when a publisher turns down a manuscript? Do they critique the book?”
“Heavens, no. Generally manuscripts are returned with a standard rejection letter. The fact that the editor took the time to personally write me about revising is sort of a compliment. Actually, it’s an excellent sign. Especially since she’s willing to look at Forever Yours again.” Bailey paused and inhaled shakily. “I was wondering if I could take you up on that offer for dinner. I realize this is rather sudden and I probably shouldn’t have phoned, but tonight would be best for me since...since I inadvertently gave Max my ground turkey and there’s really nothing else in the fridge, but if you can’t I understand....” The words had tumbled out in a nervous rush; once she’d started, she couldn’t seem to make herself stop.
“Do you want me to pick you up, or would you rather meet somewhere?”
“Ah...” Despite herself, Bailey was astounded. She hadn’t really expected Parker to agree. “The restaurant where you had lunch a couple of weeks ago looked good. Only, please, I insist on paying for my own meal this time.”
“In Chinatown?”
“Yes. Would you meet me there?”
“Sure. Does an hour give you enough time?”
“Oh, yes. An hour’s plenty.” Once again Bailey found herself nearly tongue-tied with surprise—and pleasure.
Their conversation was over so fast that she was left staring at the phone, half wondering if it had really happened at all. She took a couple of deep breaths, then dashed into her bedroom to change, renew her makeup and brush her hair.
Bailey loved Chinese food, especially the spicy Szechuan dishes, but she wasn’t thinking about dinner as the taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant. She’d decided to indulge herself by taking a cab to Chinatown. It did mean she’d have to take the subway home, though.
Parker, who was standing outside the restaurant waiting for her, hurried forward to open the cab door. Bailey was terribly aware of his hand supporting her elbow as he helped her out.
“It’s good of you to meet me like this on such short notice,” she said, smiling up at Parker.
“No problem. Who’s Max?”
“My cat.”
Parker grinned and, clasping her elbow more firmly, led her into the restaurant. The first thing that caught Bailey’s attention was a gigantic, intricately carved chandelier made of dark polished wood. She’d barely had a chance to examine it, however, when they were escorted down a long hallway to a narrow room filled with wooden booths, high-backed and private, each almost a little room of its own.
“Oh, my, this is nice,” she breathed, sliding into their booth. She slipped the bag from her shoulder and withdrew the same pen and notepad she’d brought with her when they’d met for lunch.
The waiter appeared with a lovely ceramic teapot and a pair of tiny matching cups. The menus were tucked under his arm.
Bailey didn’t have nearly as easy a time making her choice as she had at the Sandpiper. Parker suggested they each order whatever they wished and then share. There were so many dishes offered, most of them sounding delectable and exciting, that it took Bailey a good ten minutes to make her selection—spicy shrimp noodles. Parker chose the less adventurous almond chicken stir-fry.
“All right,” Bailey said, pouring them each some tea. “Now let’s get down to business.”
“Sure.” Parker relaxed against the back of the booth, crossing his arms and stretching out his legs. “Ask away,” he said, motioning with his hand when she hesitated.
“Maybe I’d better start by giving you a brief outline of the story.”
“However you’d like to do this.”
“I want you to understand Michael,” she explained. “He’s a businessman, born on the wrong side of the tracks. He’s a little bitter, but he’s learned to forgive those who’ve hurt him through the years. Michael’s in his mid-thirties, and he’s never been married.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing he’s been too busy building his career.”
“As what?”
“He’s in the exporting business.”
“I see.”
“You’re frowning.” Bailey hadn’t asked a single one of her prepared questions yet, and already Parker was looking annoyed.
“It’s just that a man doesn’t generally reach the ripe old age of thirty-five without a relationship or two. If he’s never had any, then there’s a problem.”
“You’re thirty-something and you’re not married,” she felt obliged to point out. “What’s your excuse?”
Parker shrugged. “My college schedule was very heavy, which didn’t leave a lot of time for dating. Later I traveled extensively, which again didn’t offer much opportunity. Oh, there were relationships along the way, but nothing ever worked out. I guess you could say I haven’t found the right woman. But that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in marrying and settling down some day.”
“Exactly. That’s how Michael feels, except he thinks getting married would only complicate his life. He’s ready to fall in love with Janice, but he doesn’t realize it.”
“I see,” Parker said with a nod, “go on. I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”
“Well, basically, Michael’s life is going smoothly until he meets Janice Hampton. Her father has retired and she’s taking over the operation of his manufacturing firm. A job she’s well qualified for, I might add.”
“What does she manufacture?”
“I was rather vague about that, but I let the reader assume it has something to do with computer parts. I tossed in a word here and there to give that suggestion.”
Parker nodded. “Continue. I’ll try not to butt in again.”
“That’s okay,” she said briskly. “Anyway, Janice’s father is a longtime admirer of Michael’s, and the old coot would like to get his daughter and Michael together. Neither one of them’s aware of it, of course. At least not right away.”
Parker reached for the teapot and refilled their cups. “That sounds good.”
Bailey smiled shyly. “Thanks. One of the first things that happens is Janice’s father maneuvers Michael and Janice under the mistletoe at a Christmas party. Everyone’s expecting them to kiss, but Michael is furious and he—”
“Just a minute.” Parker held up one hand, stopping her. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. This guy is standing under the mistletoe with a beautiful woman and he’s furious. What’s wrong with him?”
“What do you mean?”
“No man in his right mind is going to object to kissing a beautiful woman.”
Bailey picked up her teacup and leaned against the hard back of the wooden booth, considering. Parker was right. And Janice hadn’t been too happy about the situation herself. Was that any more believable? Imagine standing under the mistletoe with a man like Parker Davidson. Guiltily she shook off the thought and returned her attention to his words.
“Unless...” he was saying pensively.
“Yes?”
“Unless he recognizes that he was manipulated into kissing her and resents it. He may even think she’s in cahoots with her father.”
Brightening, Bailey nodded, making a note on her pad. “Yeah, that would work.” Parker was as good at tossing ideas around as Jo Ann, which was a pleasant surprise.
“Still...” He hesitated, sighing. “A pretty woman is a pretty woman and he isn’t going to object too strongly, regardless of the circumstances. What happens when he does kiss her?”
“Not too much. He does it grudgingly, but I’ve decided I’m going to change that part. You’re right. He shouldn’t make too much of a fuss. However, this happens early on in the book and neither of them’s aware of her father’s scheme. I don’t want to tip the reader off so soon as to what’s happening.”
Bailey’s mind was spinning as she reworked the scene. She could picture Michael and Janice standing under the mistletoe, both somewhat uneasy with the situation, but as Parker suggested, not objecting too strongly. Janice figures they’ll kiss, and that’ll be the end of it...until they actually do the kissing.
That was the part Bailey intended to build on. When Michael’s and Janice’s lips met it would be like...like throwing a match on dry tinder, so intense would be the reaction.
The idea began to gather momentum in her mind. Then, not only would Janice and Michael be fighting her father’s outrageous plot, they’d be battling their feelings for each other.
“This is great,” Bailey whispered, “really great.” She started to tell Parker her plan when they were interrupted by the waiter who brought their dinner, setting the steaming dishes before them.
By then, Bailey’s appetite had fully recovered and she reached eagerly for the chopsticks. Parker picked up his own. They both reached for the shrimp noodles. Bailey withdrew her chopsticks.
“You first.”
“No, you.” He waved his hand, encouraging her.
She smiled and scooped up a portion of the noodles. The situation felt somehow intimate, comfortable, and yet they were still basically strangers.
They ate in silence for several minutes and Bailey watched Parker deftly manipulate the chopsticks. It was the first time she’d dated a man who was as skilled at handling them as she was herself.
Dated a man.
The words leapt out at her. Bright red warning signs seemed to be flashing in her mind. Her head shot up and she stared wide-eyed at the man across the table from her.
“Bailey? Are you all right?”
She nodded and hurriedly looked away.
“Did you bite into a hot pepper?”
“No,” she assured him, quickly shaking her head. “I’m fine. Really, I’m all right.” Only she wasn’t, and she suspected he knew it.
The remainder of their meal passed with few comments.
Naturally Parker had no way of knowing about her experiences with Paul and Tom. Nor would he be aware that there was an unused wedding dress hanging in her closet, taunting her every morning when she got ready for work. The wedding gown was an ever-present reminder of why she couldn’t put any faith in the male of the species.
The danger came when she allowed her guard to slip. Before she knew it, she’d be trusting a man once again, and that was a definite mistake. Parker made her feel somehow secure; she felt instinctively that he was a man of integrity, of candor—and therein lay the real risk. Maybe he was a real live breathing hero, but Bailey had been fooled twice before. She wasn’t going to put her heart on the line again.
They split the tab. Parker clearly wasn’t pleased about that, but Bailey insisted. They were about to leave the restaurant when Parker said, “You started to say something about rewriting that scene under the mistletoe.”
“Yes,” she answered, regaining some of her former enthusiasm. “I’m going to have that kiss make a dynamite impact on them both. Your suggestions were very helpful. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your willingness to meet with me like this.”
It was as though Parker hadn’t heard her. His forehead creased as he held open the door for her and they stepped onto the busy sidewalk.
“You’re frowning again,” Bailey noted aloud.
“Have you ever experienced that kind of intense sensation when a man kissed you?”
Bailey didn’t have to think about it. “Not really.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“But I like the idea of that happening between Janice and Michael,” she argued. “It adds a whole new dimension to the plot. I can use that. Besides, there’s a certain element of fantasy in a traditional romance novel, a larger-than-life perspective.”
“Oh, I’m not saying a strong reaction between them shouldn’t happen. I’m just wondering how you plan to write such a powerfully emotional scene without any real experience of it yourself.”
“That’s the mark of a good writer,” Bailey explained, ignoring his less-than-flattering remark. She’d been kissed before! Plenty of times. “Being able to create an atmosphere of romance just takes imagination. You don’t expect me to go around kissing strange men, do you?”
“Why not? You had no qualms about following a strange man. Kissing me wouldn’t be any different. It’s all research.”
“Kissing you?”
“It’ll add credibility to your writing. A confidence you might not otherwise have.”
“If I were writing a murder mystery would you suggest I go out and kill someone?” Bailey had to argue with him before she found herself agreeing to this craziness!
“Don’t be ridiculous! Murder would be out of the question, but a kiss...a kiss is very much within your grasp. It would lend authenticity to your story. I suggest we go ahead with it, Bailey.”
They were strolling side by side. Bailey was deep in thought when Parker casually turned into a narrow alley. She guessed it was the same one he’d hauled her into the day she’d followed him.
“Well,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders and staring down at her. “Are you game?”
Was she? Bailey didn’t know anymore. He was right; the scene would have far more impact if she were to experience the same sensations as Janice. Kissing Parker would be like Janice kissing Michael. The sale of her book could hinge on how well she developed the attraction between hero and heroine in that all-important first chapter.
“Okay,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice.
No sooner had she spoken than Parker gently cupped her chin and directed her mouth toward his. “This is going to be good,” she heard him whisper just before his lips settled over hers.
Bailey’s eyes drifted shut. This was good. In fact, it was wonderful. So wonderful, she felt weak and dizzy—and yearned to feel even weaker and dizzier. Despite herself, she clung to Parker, literally hanging in his arms. Without his support, she feared she would have slumped to the street.
He tasted so warm and familiar, as if she’d spent a lifetime in his arms, as if she were meant to spend a lifetime there.
The fluttering sensation in her stomach changed to a warm heaviness. She felt strange and hot. Bailey was afraid that if this didn’t end soon, she’d completely lose control.
“No more,” she pleaded, breaking off the kiss. She buried her face in his shoulder and dragged in several deep breaths in an effort to stop her trembling.
It wasn’t fair that Parker could make her feel this way. For Janice and Michael’s sake, it was the best thing that could have happened, but for her own sake, it was the worst. She didn’t want to feel any of this. The protective numbness around her heart was crumbling just when it was so important to keep it securely in place.
The hot touch of his lips against her temple caused her to jump away from him. “Well,” she said, rubbing her palms briskly together once she found her voice. “That was certainly a step in the right direction.”
“I beg your pardon?” Parker was staring at her as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard her accurately.
“The kiss. It had pizzazz and a certain amount of charm, but I was looking for a little more...something. The kiss between Michael and Janice has got to have spark.”
“Our kiss had spark.” Parker’s voice was deep, brooding.
“Charm,” she corrected, then added brightly, “I will say one thing, though. You’re good at this. Lots of practice, right?” Playfully she poked his ribs with her elbow. “Well, I’ve got to be going. Thanks again for meeting me on such short notice. I’ll be seeing you around.” Amazingly the smile on her lips didn’t crack. Even more amazing was the fact that she managed to walk away from him on legs that felt like overcooked pasta.
She was about five blocks from the BART station, walking as fast as she could, mumbling to herself all the way. She behaved like an idiot every time she even came near Parker Davidson!
She continued mumbling, chastising herself, when he pulled up at the curb beside her in a white sports car. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew expensive when she saw it. The same way she knew his suit hadn’t come from a department store.
“Get in,” he said gruffly, slowing to a stop and leaning over to open the passenger door.
“Get in?” she repeated. “I was going to take BART.”
“Not at this time of night you’re not.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” she demanded.
“Don’t press your luck, Bailey. Just get in.”
She debated whether she should or not, but from the stubborn set of his jaw, she could see it would do no good to argue. She’d never seen a more obstinate-looking jaw in her life. As she recalled, it was one of the first things she’d noticed about Parker.
“What’s your address?” he asked after she’d slipped inside.
Bailey gave it to him as she fiddled with the seat belt, then sat silently while he sped down the street, weaving his way in and out of traffic. He braked sharply at a red light and she glanced in his direction.
“Why are you so angry?” she demanded. “You look as if you’re ready to bite my head off.”
“I don’t like it when a woman lies to me.”
“When did I lie?” she asked indignantly.
“You lied a few minutes ago when you said our kiss was...lacking.” He laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “We generated more electricity with that one kiss than the Hoover Dam does in a month. You want to kid yourself, then fine, but I’m not playing your game.”
“I’m not playing any game,” she informed him primly. “Nor do I appreciate having you come at me like King Kong because my assessment of a personal exchange between us doesn’t meet yours.”
“A personal exchange?” he scoffed. “It was a kiss, sweetheart.”
“I only agreed to it for research purposes.”
“If that’s what you want to believe, fine, but we both know better.”
“Whatever,” she muttered. Parker could think what he wanted. She’d let him drive her home because he seemed to be insisting on it. But as far as having anything further to do with him—out of the question. He was obviously placing far more significance on their kiss than she’d ever intended.
Okay, so she had felt something. But to hear him tell it, that kiss rivaled the great screen kisses of all time.
Parker drove up in front of her apartment building and turned off the engine. “All right,” he said coolly. “Let’s go over this one last time. Do you still claim our kiss was merely a ‘personal exchange’? Just research?”
“Yes,” she stated emphatically, unwilling to budge an inch.
“Then prove it.”
Bailey sighed. “How exactly am I supposed to do that?”
“Kiss me again.”
Bailey could feel the color drain out of her face. “I’m not about to sit outside my apartment kissing you with half the building looking on.”
“Fine, then invite me in.”
“Uh...it’s late.”
“Since when is nine o’clock late?” he taunted.
Bailey was running out of excuses. “There’s nothing that says a woman is obligated to invite a man into her home, is there?” she asked in formal tones. Her spine was Sunday-school straight and her eyes were focused on the street ahead of her.
Parker’s laugh took her by surprise. She twisted around to stare at him and found him smiling roguishly. “You little coward,” he murmured, pulling her toward him for a quick peck on the cheek. “Go on. Run home before I change my mind.”